Ballerina
by Miss Dark And Twisted
Summary: We all know the story and it's main players: the lovely Christine Daae, the mysterious Phantom, and the heroic Raoul. But what about Meg Giry, Christine's best friend? What was her story? [Mix of moviemusical]
1. Ballet Rat

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing. All PotO characters belong to Gaston Leroux, and Andrew Lloyd Webber… although this fic is a mix of the musical/movie, not the book. Enjoy!**

Chapter 1

_Little blond angel! Huh! I suppose I should feel grateful, but maybe that remark would've been a bit more complimentary when I was five!_ Meg Giry's thoughts were full of resentment, but on the outside she was calm and cool, twirling and leaping in time with the other dancers, her body simply an instrument used to portray the ballet.

She glanced at her best friend, Christine Daae. _She should be happy; they called her an 'exceptional beauty'. _Although she loved her friend dearly, she _could_ get on Meg's nerves, and Meg wasn't immune to being jealous of the lovely Christine. An orphan, Madame Giry took her under her wing and raised her as her own, and Meg had grown to think of her as a sister. Although, sometimes Meg felt that her mother paid more attention to Christine than to her.

_Or maybe I'm just being horrible._

There were two levels in her mind: on one level, the dance. All Meg needed to dance was the music; she didn't need to memorize steps. To her, there _were_ no steps. Ballet was an art, a beauty in which your body became one with the music, one with the ballet, one with the emotions captured. On the second level was reality, the people all around her, the conversations and such. She struck the final pose as the music rose and died down, staring out into the empty audience before unfreezing and leaping to her feet.

She went over to Christine, who had been very daydreamy lately, as if her head was always in the clouds. "Christine? Christine, are you all right?"

"Oh!" She turned and looked at Meg as if seeing her for the first time. "Yes, I'm fine." Christine looked round at all the dancers and singers. "They're quite good."

"You mean _we're_ quite good," Meg corrected. "You and I are a part of _Hannibal_ too."

Christine smiled. "Yes, of course."

Meg smiled knowingly. "Are you looking for the Vicomte? He left, you know."

Christine blushed. "He didn't recognize me."

"He didn't _see _you," Meg answered gently.

The Vicomte, Raoul, was a childhood friend and sweetheart of Christine's. Meg was sure he would have recognized her, if he had seen her.

They chattered amongst themselves, and Meg was dimly aware of Carlotta's screechy voice, full of protest, and the managers seemingly pleading with her, until Carlotta, the lead singer in every opera, began to sing, her voice piercing the dull murmur or voices.

"Eugh." Meg made a face. "Honestly, I must be tone-deaf, because I don't see what all the fuss is about." Christine gave a little shrug, which Meg took to be a silent agreement.

"_Remember me, _  
_Once in a while, please promise me_  
_Yo-o-ou'll try…._  
_When you find, that once again you long_  
_To take your heart back…"_

As Carlotta sang, a heavy backdrop fell almost silently upon her. The other dancers screamed a second before the backdrop hit the floor, taking a screeching Carlotta down with it. Meg bit back a laugh and turned it into a gasp of horror. Immediately her eyes shot upwards, scanning the darkened catwalks above the stage.

"He's here," she whispered to Christine excitedly. "The Phantom of the Opera!" She didn't notice Christine's eyes, which were filled with fear and wonder.

"Signora, are you all right?" Monsieur Lefevre, the now-old owner of the Opera Populaire, Andre, and Firmin, the new owners, rushed over. Carlotta clambered to her feet, hysterical.

"What's going on up there?" Lefevre shouted angrily, looking upwards. "Buquet! Where's Joseph Buquet! Get down here, man!"

The dishevelled face of Joseph Buquet appeared over the edge of a catwalk. "Please, monsieur, don't look at me!" he said. "As God as my witness I wasn't at my post! Please, monsieur, there's no one here… and if there is, well then, he must be a ghost."

That set the dancers off into another chorus of shrill screams. Meg winced.

"Please, Signora… these-these things do happen…" Andre said, weakly.

Carlotta drew herself up. Meg grinned and whispered in Christine's ear, "This should be good."

"Si! These _things_ do happen! For the past _three years_, these 'things' do happen! Ma no! Until you stop these things from happening, this _thing does not happen_! Andiamo! Bring me doggy and my boxy!" She stalked off angrily, followed closely by her partner, Piangi.

There was a silence. "Well, I don't think there's much more I can do to assist you, gentlemen. If you need me, I shall be in Australia." Lefevre bowed, and walked offstage.

Andre and Firmin stared at each other in silence. "Carlotta… will be back?"

Monsieur Reyer, the maestro, rolled his eyes and put a hand to his forehead.

"She'll be back." Andre spoke with more conviction this time, but Meg knew she wouldn't be. Carlotta was a huge drama queen, and when she wanted to make a point, she made her point. Meg wasn't exactly sorry to see her go, if only for a little while, the woman had never been nice to her, calling her a 'ballet rat'.

"You think so, monsieurs?" Madame Giry stepped forward, holding a while envelope. "I have a message, sir, from the Opera Ghost." Meg felt Christine tense beside her.

Andre and Firmin rolled their eyes. "Good God in heaven, you're all obsessed!"

Madame Giry gave them a look before continuing. "He merely welcomes you to his opera house and commands you to continue to leave Box Five empty for his use and reminds you that his salary is due."

"His _salary?!_" Andre and Firmin looked shocked.

"Monsieur Lefevre paid him twenty thousand francs a month. Perhaps you can afford more,  
with the Vicomte de Chagny as your patron," she said, raising her eyebrows.

Andre huffed with indignation. "I had hoped to make that public tonight, Madame, but it seems we will have to _cancel_ because we have lost our star!"

"Christine Daae could sing it."

Meg and Christine spun around to face Madame Giry in shock. _What? What? You're my mother; you're supposed to… to stick up for me, or whatever! Say I can sing it, even though I'm not very good! Not Christine! Me, your daughter!_ Meg wasn't sure if she was justified or not in her thoughts, but she didn't care.

"A chorus girl?" Andre glanced at her dismissively. "Don't be silly."

But Madame Giry pressed on. "Let her sing for you, monsieurs. She has been taking lessons from a great teacher."

"What's his name?"

"I-I don't know, sirs," Christine said quietly.

Andre and Firmin sighed. "Very well. From the beginning of the aria, mademoiselle."

Christine stepped forward, nudged encouragingly by Meg. She was burning with jealousy, but she couldn't let that stop her from being a good friend.

Christine cast a nervous glance back at her, and Meg smiled. She gave a small smile back and turned to face the empty audience.

"_Think of me,  
Think of me fondly  
When we've said goodbye…  
Remember me, once in a while, please promise me  
You'll try…  
When you find, that once again you long, to take your heart back  
And be free –"_

x

Meg watched Christine, jealousy and happiness for her friend mixing, creating an unpleasant burning in her stomach. _Her voice is good_, she thought reluctantly. _Now it will be all about Christine… and I'll be pushed even further away, even more of a little ballerina rat than before._ She felt guilty at her selfishness, but why did she have to be so considerate all the time? Was it so wrong to want fame and attention, for once?

Meg waited offstage for Christine, tapping her foot impatiently. Christine had performed _perfectly_ tonight, she had to admit. She was glowing, a true angel… _sigh._

She had tried to congratulate her, but a rush of people had surged forward first, which forced her back, everyone ignoring the little blond girl, looking even littler in her white ballerina costume and white hair ribbon. Now, Christine had seemingly disappeared. Meg sighed. _Oh, Christine._

She wove her way through the throng of people, who drinking and laughing merrily. Andre and Firmin looked especially merry. No one paid any attention to her, but she didn't expect any. She just wanted to find her friend.

Meg entered a narrow passageway, walking past two people embracing so closely, they seemed glued together. She climbed a small set of stairs and opened a little door, leading to the small chapel. Christine sat on the floor, lighting a candle for her father, her dress all around her.

"Christine… Christine." Meg smiled down at her. "Where in the world have you been hiding?" She sat down beside her. "You were perfect, you know." Christine blushed and looked down, smiling. "I only wish I knew your secret…" she sighed longingly. "Who is your great tutor?"

Christine looked at her for a moment, and then her eyes rested on the picture of her father. "Father once spoke of an angel… an angel of music. He promised me, Meg, when he was in heaven, he'd send me the angel of music. And he has, Meg." She smiled widely.

"As I sing, Meg, I can sense him… and now, now I know he's here. He calls me… somewhere inside, hiding." Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. Meg felt herself become drawn into Christine's wonder, yet jealousy stirred. An angel of music?

"Christine… you must have been dreaming," Meg told her, although she didn't sound very sure of herself. "Stories like this, they can't come true. Christine, you're talking in riddles… and it's not like you."

"He's with me even now…" Christine grasped her hands and Meg gasped.

"Your hands are so cold…"

"All around me…"

"Your face, Christine, its white!"

"It frightens me…"

"Don't be frightened." Meg hugged her comfortingly. "It's just a dream, Christine, just a dream. Come on, let's go back to your room. I'll bet you have a thousand flowers waiting for you." She grinned, and Christine gave her a small smile.

They took a back way; where there would be less people, but as soon as they got close to her room people began to mob them, thrusting flowers at Christine and congratulating her, their voices one. Meg kept an iron grip on Christine's arm, as people tried to push her away. "Leave her alone… no… come on, now, stop!" Meg snapped, but it was useless. No one would listen.

Suddenly, Madame Giry appeared. "No," she snapped icily at the crowd, and managed to open the door and pull Christine inside. Meg moved to follow her in, but her mother stopped her. "Meg Giry, are you not a dancer?" Meg flushed under her mother's gaze. "Yes."

"Then go, rehearse." She shut the door.

Meg's eyes filled with tears of anger. She spun around and raced blindly through the crowd, not stopping to apologize when she bumped into someone. She didn't stop until she reached the ballet dormitories, where all the others dancers were.

"Meg!" They all swivelled their heads in attention when she entered. "Did you see Christine?"

Meg stifled a sigh. "Yes. She was in the chapel, praying."

"She was perfect!" a red-headed girl named Marie sighed wistfully. "I wish I could sing like that, she sounded like an angel!"

"Yes," Meg agreed. "There were many well-wishers outside her door."

She let her mind wander as the girls chattered excitedly about how well Christine had done, how she was probably the next big star, and wouldn't Carlotta be _angry_?

"Are you happy for Christine, little Meg?" asked a tall, black-haired girl named Emilie. Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Yes, I am," she said calmly. "Why wouldn't I be? She's my best friend."

"Oh, I don't know. I just thought you might be jealous. Now Christine's not a little nothing dancer like you and I, she's a star. Her name will be on everyone's minds and lips. But if you're happy for her, well, bravo."

Meg glared at her. "I'm not a _salope _like you, Emilie," she snapped, using the French word for the derogatory term. The girls gasped, covering their mouths to hide their smiles. No one liked Emilie very much. "I'm going to bed." Meg climbed the winding stairs and climbed into her small bed, staring at the ceiling. _Emilie's right. Christine will be a star now, a somebody._ She sighed. She wished she were a good person, like Christine. If it were Meg who had sang, Christine probably wouldn't be the least bit jealous. _You can't hate someone like that, but oh, sometimes I wish I could._

Meg must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew she was waking with a start, looking around the low-ceilinged room in confusion. _What woke me up?_ She listened carefully, but didn't hear a sound. The room was dark, but she could make out the shapes of the other girls in their beds.

For some reason, she felt the urge to move. She slipped stealthily out of bed and tiptoed down the stairs, feeling full of burning excitement. It was a thrill to be out of bed when you were supposed to be in it.

She decided to visit Christine. Guilt ate at her because of her thoughts, and she wanted to let her know she would support her no matter what. She slipped out of the dormitories and moved as soundlessly as a ghost down the hallways. _Ghosts… how frightening._

Meg was close to Christine's room when she heard two people arguing in whispers. She peered around a corner and saw her mother, holding a candle, and the Vicomte. He looked angry. "Where is she?" he hissed angrily. "I only left for two minutes, and when I got back, I heard a _voice_ in there with her! Who was it? Where did they take her?"

_Take who?_ Meg wondered.

"Monsieur, I'm sorry, but I do not know. If the door was locked, then I'm sure Miss Daae cannot be far. Perhaps you were just hearing things, and she left?"

The Vicomte stared at her wordlessly, and then snorted. "Where did she go, then? And why is she not back?" He shook his head. "If you will not help me, Madame, then I will look myself." He stalked away, swallowed up by the darkness.

Meg knew her mother was lying. She could see it in her eyes, lit by the flame. She stood still for a moment, then walked away, also consumed by the darkness.

"Ohmygod," Meg whispered to herself. "Christine is missing?! What could have happened?" Her curiosity was ignited now. She had to go to Christine's room, see if she could find anything. She waited to make sure no one else appeared, and raced lightly down the hall. When she came to Christine's door she tightened her hand around the cool knob, remembering that her mother had said the door was locked. _No harm in trying._

She turned the knob and pushed, to her surprise it opened, and she stumbled into the room, clutching the doorknob for support. "Oh!"

The room was dark and silent, eerily so. Meg crept inside and shut the door quietly behind her. Her eyes scanned the room, but she didn't see anywhere that Christine could have disappeared to… no secret passages… _wait a minute!_

Meg's eyes rested on a rose, lying on the floor in front of a full-length mirror. She bent down and picked it up gently, a warm thrill running down her spine. She looked up at the mirror, and noticed it was open a tiny bit, barely noticeable. _Open? What's behind it? This is probably where Christine went!_ Her fingers curved around the mirror's edge and she tugged. It slid open slowly, revealing a long, semi-dark tunnel.

"Wow," Meg breathed, feeling a rush of exhilaration. She stepped into the tunnel, and half-closed the mirror behind her. "That's strange," she muttered. "Whoever was back here could see Christine, but she couldn't see them…"

Cautiously, she walked down the tunnel. Not only was it dark, but it was damp, too. Water dripped, although she couldn't see it, only hear it. She had to be careful to avoid little puddles of water, and the occasional rat scampered across her path. She didn't really mind, she had always had a soft spot for all animals. When she reached the end of the tunnel, she was surprised that it merely led to a set of swirling, descending stone stairs. "Wow…"

Suddenly, there was a hand on her shoulder, fingers digging into her skin harshly.

**Read & Review!**


	2. Meg's Angel

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing. All PotO characters belong to Gaston Leroux, and Andrew Lloyd Webber… although this fic is a mix of the musical/movie, not the book. Enjoy!**

Chapter 2

Meg spun around, a scream catching in her throat. She half-expected to see some dark figure, tall and encompassing, the shadows creeping to engulf her…

But it was merely her mother, her eyes flaming fiercely.

"Mother," Meg gasped in relief. "Y-you scared me… I think I know where Christine is!" She gestured down the stairs. "It's a secret passageway, I think someone took her down there…" she trailed off. "Mother, Christine could be in trouble! We have to go down there!"

Madame Giry shook her head. "No, Meg. You should not be here. Come with me." She began to forcefully lead Meg back towards the mirror, but she resisted. "Mother… don't you understand? Christine _disappeared_, she must be down there!" A sudden thought struck her with horror. "Mother, the Opera ghost could have kidnapped her!" she whispered in fear. "We have to save her!"

"Christine is safe," Madame Giry said firmly. "Do not worry, my dear. Now _come with me._"

Meg opened her mouth to speak, but closed it. Her mother would never let her go down there, she would have to come back on her own.

"This is an abandoned passageway," her mother said as she led Meg back to the mirror and to Christine's room. "Long ago, men used this to work on construction underneath the opera house. It was used, but not anymore. The passageways still exist, Meg, but there are many and they are confusing. The possibility of becoming lost is great." Her voice became warm and protective. "I do not want anything to happen to you."

Meg was silent, keeping her anger and suspicion inside. _She knows something_, she thought fiercely. _And I will find out what._

"Yes, Mother," she said obediently. "I'm sorry, I won't go there again."

Madame Giry gave her a quick hug. "I know, Meg. Now go back to bed!"

She scampered off, waiting until she rounded the corner, and then slowed down. Meg wished desperately that her mother hadn't interrupted her, because she _knew_ Christine was down there. She could've sworn she heard very, very faint voices… but perhaps it was her imagination. _But who would have taken her there? The Vicomte said he heard another voice… was it really the Opera ghost? Does he exist, truly? But why would he want Christine… unless…_

Christine had spoken of an angel, an angel of music. "He's with me even now…" Meg muttered to herself, reciting Christine's words. "She believes this angel is real, and he must have appeared to her, or spoken to her… what if her angel is the Opera ghost? Unless, of course, the Opera ghost does not exist and Christine is insane…" But Meg didn't believe that. Christine could be naïve, yes, and childishly innocent, indeed… and lately her head had been in the clouds. But insane? Imagining things? No. Or… could she?

She shook her head in frustration. "I need to speak with Christine… I hope my mother is right, and she _is_ safe."

She crept into the dormitories and put on a nightgown before snuggling into bed, staring at the ceiling. She yawned, and her last thought was that she wished _she_ had a mysterious angel of music, how romantic it would be…

x

Sunlight streamed through the narrow windows, creating a bright red glow behind Meg's eyes. She squeezed them shut tighter, but sleepiness was peeling back to reveal wakefulness, so Meg opened her eyes reluctantly. Suddenly, she leapt up, realizing fully that it was morning. Was Christine back?

Meg saw that some of the beds were empty, while some still contained the sleeping forms of girls. She quickly pulled on her typical white ballet uniform (she was getting rather tired of it) and pulled her hair back, tying it with a ribbon. She tiptoed down the stairs and slipped out, without even alerting any of the other girls.

When Meg reached Christine's room, she saw her mother exiting, closing the door softly behind her. "Mother! Is Christine back? Is she alright?"

Madame Giry sighed. "Yes, Meg, she has returned. But she needs her rest," she added as Meg reached for the doorknob.

"But I'm her best friend," she protested. "I'm sure she won't mind."

Madame Giry gave her an exasperated look. "She needs her rest, Meg, please. No one is to disturb her."

"I won't be _disturbing_ her," Meg snapped. "Please, Mother, only for a few minutes?"

Madame Giry relented. "Fine. But only for a bit, and please, do not overwhelm her with questions." She retrieved a key and turned it in the lock, pushing it open.

Meg went inside, and saw that the room was lit by candles. It was a far cry from the eerie, silent room she had encountered last night. Christine lay in the bed, leaning against the backboard, supported by pillows. She turned her head and saw Meg, a smile growing on her face.

"Meg!"

"Oh, Christine." Meg rushed to her side and gave her a hug. "You silly girl, you gave us all a fright." She grinned. "The Vicomte especially. He _does_ remember you, Christine."

Christine's eyes clouded over. "Yes."

"Christine…" Meg hesitated. "Where were you?"

Christine hesitated, her eyes flicking to the mirror. "Were you in the mirror?"

Christine snapped her head around to stare at Meg. "W-What? N-No." She laughed nervously.

"Christine, I found the secret passageway. Who took you in there?" Meg grasped Christine's hands in her own.

"Oh, Meg, I can't…" Christine looked away. "I'm sorry."

"Was it the Opera Ghost?" Meg pressed on. She couldn't stop, her curiosity was ignited, and it was burning wildly now, out of control.

"Meg, please…"

"Christine, you can tell me. I promise I won't tell a living soul, but I'm worried about you. Is it the Opera Ghost? Did he take you… the Phantom of the Opera?"

Christine nodded very slowly.

"He's your secret tutor, isn't he?"

Once again, she nodded slowly. "Oh, I shouldn't be telling you this… he won't like it. He didn't like it when Raoul came, either. Raoul doesn't understand…" Christine sighed. "The angel of music is very strict, I _told_ him."

Meg stared at her. _She's insane. Either that or he's got her under his… his what? Spell? Is she enchanted? What kind of power does this man, this phantom, have?_

"Why does he want you, Christine?" she asked gently.

"To sing for him," she answered, staring at the mirror, smiling strangely. "To sing for his music… the music of the night."

Meg smiled. "Well, that's understandable. You do have a voice like an angel." Christine turned back to her and smiled.

"He's the angel father sent me, I told you. The angel of music, sent from my father."

Meg bit her lip. She knew this man, this phantom, was no angel. She didn't know exactly who he was (although she was suspecting her mother did), but he was just a man, not an angel, not a ghost. He couldn't be. She was frightened by the power he seemed to have over Christine. _Is he using her? Or is there another reason? _

"Christine, he's not an angel. He's just a man… I don't know who he is or how he got here, but he's only a man," she told her firmly. "He's not a ghost, either, he can't be, he's just a clever _man_."

Christine looked at her, confusion dawning in her eyes. "A man?"

"Yes, a man. Just a man, Christine, nothing more, nothing less."

"No." Christine shook her head. "He's an angel, my angel of music." She yawned suddenly. "I'm tired, Meg, I'm sorry."

Meg nodded. "Alright. Get some rest, Christine… and be careful."

She left the room, closing the door behind her. Madame Giry was waiting. "You were too long. Christine is tired."

Meg spun around to face her mother, suddenly angry. "How could you?" she hissed. "You knew all along about the Opera Ghost, didn't you? You know who he is, don't you? And now, he took Christine to… I don't know where. He's after her, Mother… I don't know why, but it doesn't matter! She could be in danger! Why don't you protect her?"

Madame Giry winced slightly, but only for a moment. "This does not concern you, Meg. Now, go rehearse like the other dancers… or would you like to be put to work as a maid?"

Meg glared at her, then spun around and fled, racing past the dormitories, instead up the winding staircase that led to the rooftop.

Meg burst out onto the roof, shivering instantly with the cold. There was no snow, at least not yet, but the chill of winter was definitely in the air. Although it was cold, it was oddly calming. She walked to the edge and looked over, the few people walking the streets looking like large ants. Their voices barely reached her.

She rubbed her arms, thinking. Why was the Opera Ghost, or Phantom of the Opera, whatever name given to him, after Christine? Was it her voice? How could he have known of her angelic voice when she was a mere chorus girl and dancer? Did he long for only her voice or for her love too? _And now, it seems her Vicomte is quite enamoured of her as well._ It wasn't fair. _Oh yes, Meg, oh course the biggest issue is how it isn't fair for you. How selfless YOU are._

Meg backed away from the ledge. She walked slowly around the rooftop, going to stand beside the large angel statue which stood at one corner of the roof. She rested a hand on its wing, staring into the distance. "Angel of music…" she said softly, looking up at the sky. "Could he really be an angel?"

A strange feeling suddenly came over her… the sudden, unexpected urge to dance. Meg looked around the roof, a small smile coming to her lips. "Why not?" she thought. "Dancing on a roof isn't the strangest place one could dance." She twirled lightly, loving the feeling of the wind, turning with her. It whispered in her ears and caressed her, so cold it began to feel warm.

There was no music, but Meg didn't need it. She hummed to herself quietly, allowing the dance itself to take over. In the midst of her routine, she heard footsteps somewhere around her. She stumbled to a stop, looking around wildly. "Hello?" she called, trying to keep her voice strong. There was no one to be seen, but she had the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching her. _The Opera Ghost, perhaps?_ For some reason, the thought made her laugh.

"Excuse me, Monsieur Opera Ghost," she called, laughter in her voice. "I did not mean to disturb _your_ opera house!" Beneath her laughter was prickling fear, but she pushed it further down.

Meg heard another noise, but once again she couldn't tell where it was coming from. She gulped, blindly backing away. "It's not funny," she snapped. "Whoever's there, it's not funny, oh - "

What happened next seemed to happen in slow motion, as impossible as it sounded. She stepped backwards, but her foot met nothing, no hard concrete of the rooftop. Meg tried to bring her foot back, but it came down on the air and drew her balance backwards. Her other foot slipped from the roof, and she fell back. In desperation, Meg lunged forwards with her arms and somehow, miraculously managed to take painful hold of the ledge with her fingers. Her body slammed against the side of the opera house, knocking the breath out of her. She drew a deep breath, and then screamed.

"Help! Help me, someone!" She tried to climb up the wall, but her feet brushed against it… it was simply too smooth. There was nothing to support her feet, and they fell back uselessly. All Meg could do was hold on.

The harsh wind burned her eyes, and she had to close them. _Please, God… help me, how could I be so stupid? How? Silly little ballerina rat, that's what you are, Meg!_

Suddenly, someone grasped her wrists and tugged her upwards. She was surprised, but luckily her feet knew what to do. They pushed up the wall to help the person, and one final tug brought her up and over the edge. She spilled forwards, her rescuer assumedly moving out of the way, and crashed down against the ground. "Oh," Meg moaned, pain stinging all over her body. But she was alive, that counted. _I'm never coming up here again,_ she thought, a rueful smile flitting across her lips.

Meg pushed herself up quickly, remembering the fact that _someone_ had rescued her, but no one was there.

"Hello?" her voice was swallowed up by the wind. "Hello? Please, sir, I won't hurt you, I just want to thank you!" _How do you know it's a 'sir', Meg? Oh, boy, don't start your foolish romantic fantasy that it was the Phantom, rescuing you… don't start now, ballerina._

Meg shook her head. "I should go back," she muttered. "Mother may have noticed I'm missing."

She quickly found the other girls rehearsing, and half-heartedly joined them. But for the first time in a long time, she found she couldn't concentrate. Meg found her mind continuing in circles, starting with Christine and her state of mind and ending with her very strange rescue on the roof.

"Meg!" Meg jumped, glancing to see who the speaker was. Madame Giry had suddenly appeared, her arms crossed. The others continued to dance, pretending to be oblivious to the fact that their ballet mistress was a few feet away. "You're starting to act like Christine, with your head in the clouds," she said disapprovingly.

"Sorry," Meg said quickly.

"Girls!" Madame Giry clapped, and the girls stopped dancing. "You must begin to prepare for the upcoming opera, _IL Muto._ Practice the routine Sienna showed you, and practice, practice, practice!" She clapped again, and the girls resumed. They were less graceful as they went over the steps, muttering to themselves and each other.

Meg, however, rushed after her mother. "Who is to play the lead, Mother?" she asked. "Will it be Christine?"

Madame Giry shook her head, continuing to walk. "No. Carlotta will play the lead. Christine will play the pageboy, the silent part."

"That isn't fair," Meg objected. "Christine can sing much better than Carlotta, she sings like an angel. Carlotta sings like alley cat."

A small smile came to Madame Giry's lips. "True as that may be, Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin are concerned with nothing more than money; and they believe Carlotta will make them money." She shook her head. "Fools," she said, softly, almost to herself. "They dare disobey him."

"Who?" Meg perked up. "Disobey who? The Opera Ghost? Did he want Christine to play the lead? Is he angry? What will he do?"

Madame Giry stopped walking, and put her hands on Meg's shoulders. "Meg. Please, calm down. This matter does _not_ concern you, and I do not want you getting involved."

Meg briefly considered telling her mother of her rooftop rescue, but realized it would be stupid and kept quiet.

Madame Giry sighed. "Go, Meg, rehearse." She turned and walked away. Meg watched her, hurt rising in her chest. _This is the way it always was. Everyone else is on the inside, while I'm on the inside. Well, not anymore. Christine is my best friend, and this Opera Ghost character has tormented this opera house long enough. It's time someone stopped him, and if no one else will, then I guess I'll have to._

There was only one thing to do: follow the secret passage behind Christine's mirror all the way to wherever it led. She sighed, looking back at her fellow dancers. But first, she needed to rehearse. Her adventure could wait, she supposed, until after _IL Muto._ Nothing would happen anyways, right?

Meg bit her lip. What if the Opera Ghost became so angry that Christine was not the lead that he did something… _drastic_? Or maybe he didn't care… maybe he just wanted Christine to sing for _him_… but then why did he drop the backdrop on Carlotta?

"Meg!" Marie rushed over and tugged on her arm. "We have to practice, Meg." Meg looked at her and sighed. Marie was one of the youngest dancers, and she was so naïve and innocent she made Christine look like… well, someone a lot less innocent. "I'm coming."

Reluctantly, she quickly fell into step with the other dancers. _I guess I'll have to wait until after the performance… but will it be too late?_

**Read and Review!**


	3. Black Despair

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing. All PotO characters belong to Gaston Leroux, and Andrew Lloyd Webber… although this fic is a mix of the musical/movie, not the book. Enjoy!**

Chapter 3

_I hope it's not too late, I hope it's not too late…_

That phrase ran through Meg's head over and over, around and around in a circle. She was surprised she remembered what she was supposed to do, since her mind was on one track now, and the fact that the audience was filled with people didn't even penetrate it.

She stood off to the side of the stage, still in plain view, yet not a central part of the scene. She hated her costume, and the thick makeup… _we all look like candy people._ The thought almost made her laugh aloud. _Poor Christine, though, having to play the role of a boy!_

This opera was boring, at least it was to her, the people of Paris must like it because every seat was sold. Meg decided to tune herself in and listen.

"Serafimo, away with this pretense!" Carlotta smiled beatifically at the audience as Christine ripped off her maid outfit to reveal a manlier one, and Meg hid a smile. _Oh, poor Christine._

"You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband's absence." Carlotta and Christine both leaned forward and kissed the air in front of them.

"Poor fool, he makes me laugh, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha; ha-ha-ha-ha! Time I tried to get a better better half!"

Now it was Meg's turn to sing, along with others. "Poor fool, he doesn't know; hoho, hoho… if he knew the truth, he'd never ever go!"

As soon as the words left Meg's lips, a dark, booming voice filled the room.

"**Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be left empty?"**

Meg glanced upwards, a chill running down her spine. "He's here, the Phantom of the Opera…" she whispered.

Christine looked fearful. "It's him, it's him… I know it's him…"

Carlotta whipped around and glared at Christine, her eyes full of fire. "Your part is silent, little toad!" she snapped angrily. Then she turned to face the audience, smiling sweetly. "'Scusa, tutti," she said in a honeyed voice.

She cleared her throat and started again. "Serafimo, away with this pretense! You cannot speak, but kiss me in my _cro-oak!_"

Meg's eyes widened, as did Carlotta's. Instead of words, a horrible croaking sound emitted from Carlotta's mouth. _It must be him, the Phantom…_

Carlotta composed herself and continued, although her voice trembled slightly. "Poor fool, he makes me laugh, ha-ha-ha-ha-_cro-oak! Cro-oak!_"

The croaking sound continued, and mingled with it was laughter, which first started off low, but grew to a loud, almost hysterical volume.

Carlotta wailed and rushed offstage.

Meg let out a giggle, but she clapped her hand over her mouth. The curtains swung closed, and she rushed over to Christine, who was muttering to herself. "He's here, oh, it's him…"

"Shh, Christine, it's alright. He won't hurt you, he won't hurt anyone," she soothed. She gently led her offstage. Christine looked at her and smiled. "Oh, Meg. What would I do without you?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, the performance will continue in ten minute's time… when the role of the Countess will be played by…" Firmin's head appeared through the curtains, and he grasped Christine's arm and pulled her onstage. "Miss Christine Daae!"

The applause was thunderous.

"In the meantime, ladies and gentlemen, we shall be giving you the ballet from Act Three of tonight's opera," Andre added.

They appeared once again through the curtains, tugging Christine with them. "Go, get changed, Miss Daae! You, the ballet girls, you get dressed too… hurry!"

Meg ripped off her costume and raced offstage, pawing frantically along with the other dancers for the costumes. They resembled shepherdess' outfits, and Meg pulled hers on and tied the pink ribbon in her hair.

"Come now, girls, hurry!" Madame Giry appeared suddenly, nudging them onstage.

They took their positions just as the curtains pulled back and the music started. Meg's heart was pounding, and she tried to stay in step. But she kept glancing upwards and seeing shadows moving quickly along the wall, one strangely larger than the other.

"Meg!" Madame Giry hissed from the side of the stage.

She tried to focus, but the shadows distracted her, and soon she gave up dancing and simply stood there, watching the macabre play the shadows performed. The other dancers bumped into her at first, but then simply danced around her.

"Meg - " Madame Giry took a step forward, and at that moment something plummeted down from the catwalks and hung there, suspended by a rope.

It took her a few seconds to realize what it was, but when she did, she screamed out of instinct, and the other girls screamed along with her.

It was the body of Joseph Buquet, garrotted, swinging back and forth almost lazily.

Meg sucked in her breath, the scream taking the wind out of her. _Oh God, he is dangerous… he is… he killed a man, oh no, oh poor Christine…_

Meg rushed offstage, the helpless shouts of Andre and Firmin barely reaching her ears. "Christine!" she cried, looking around frantically. "Christine!"

Then she saw her, a red cloak wrapped around her body, leading the Vicomte by the hand, away from the chaos… to the opera rooftop.

Meg resisted the urge to follow them. _She's safe,_ she thought. _She'll be safe with the Vicomte._ Suddenly she saw a shadow, moving so quickly she wasn't sure if it was there, following the Vicomte and Christine.

"Meg!" Madame Giry appeared and hugged her tight. "Oh, ma chère, are you all right?"

Meg nodded, drawing back. "Oui, Mother, yes… I'm fine."

"Those stupid managers, those imbeciles!" she ranted. "He warned them, he did…"

"Who warned them, Mother?" Meg demanded. "Who? The Phantom? What did he want? He wanted Christine in the lead, didn't he?"

Madame Giry stared at her for a moment. "Non, Meg, non… forget this. Go to the dormitories and stay there. Promise me you won't go running off again!"

Meg sighed. "I promise."

Madame Giry nodded. "Good. Good girl."

Meg rushed off, feeling a pang of guilt at lying to her mother. But it was the perfect opportunity! She had a feeling the Phantom was off spying on Christine and the Vicomte, which meant she was free to follow the passageway. She wasn't sure what she would do once she found his lair, if that was his lair, but it was an idea. Meg had always been rash and impulsive.

Christine's door was open, and she quickly tugged open the mirror. She shut it behind her, but left it open a bit, for she may be impulsive, but she wasn't stupid. Meg forced herself to walk instead of run down the passageway, it was wet, and all she needed was to slip and fall.

At the end of the passageway were the descending stairs. She followed them, and they led to a small stone landing, a sort of resting spot which lead to more stairs. Meg sighed loudly. These stairs were longer and seemed to curve. Everything was dark and silent, an eerie colour, except for the light lapping of water.

At the bottom of these stairs, Meg saw a dark shape. She nearly screamed, but instead bit her lip and crept closer. A laugh escaped her when she was it was simply a horse: a beautiful black stallion. Beyond the horse were more stairs, but they seemed shorter and smaller. Also, a stone arch stood beside the horse, seemingly leading to another passage. But instinct told Meg to keep following the stairs. She ran a hand over the horse's flank, and he simply nickered.

She was right, the stairs _were_ more like a ramp. At the end of them was the end of the stone, the rest was water. Meg stared in awe at what lay ahead of her.

It wasn't just greenish water, great stone arches and pillars were built on top of the water, remind Meg vaguely of a cathedral. "It's beautiful," she murmured, and wondered if the Phantom had built it, or if these arches had already been here.

There was a small rectangular groove in the stone, which looked like something could be placed into it on the water. After looking around, Meg realized the only way across the water would be to walk. Grimacing a bit, she stepped into it, feeling the icy water seep through her leotards and poofy dress. "Oh, no," she moaned. "I forgot to take this stupid costume off."

Underneath she wore a simple white nightgown-like garment, which reached just above her knees. She figured that was appropriate enough, and slipped out of the shepherdess costume, giggling a bit at the thought of the Phantom finding it. She shook out her hair and let it fall free around her shoulders, something she rarely did. The water reached just above her knees, wetting the hem of the nightgown but _soaking_ her legs.

Shivering a bit, Meg waded through the water. The cold and discomfort didn't prevent her from noticing the intricate designs on the walls, strange faces that reminded her of Greek gods, and beautiful patterns. Empty candelabrums decorated the walls and rose mysteriously from the murky water.

She waded, growing colder and colder until a square metal gate appeared in the middle of a stone wall, smack-dab in front of her. Curtains covered whatever lay beyond the gate, and Meg felt frustration spark deep inside her mind. "Great," she muttered. "Just… great."

But she hadn't come all the way down here for nothing, so she decided to try and lift the gate herself, even though a little voice in her head hissed that it would be impossible. Shrugging it off, she bent down and grasped the bottom of the gate in her cold fingers, and tugged upwards. Nothing happened, except a bolt of pain shooting up her back. Meg exhaled heavily and pulled upwards again, this time harder.

The gate creaked reluctantly, and to her surprise gave a rattle and rose upwards suddenly. She stumbled backwards and sat down, hard, in the middle of the freezing murky water. Water splashed up and spattered her face, and she quickly leapt to her feet, shaking like a dog. "Ugh."

But the gate had been lifted, and Meg felt a small rush of triumph. _Hah, Mr. Phantom,_ she thought. _Une point for moi._

Meg pushed the heavy curtains aside; they felt soft under her fingers. A rush of light hit her eyes, causing her to snap them shut, wincing.

She counted to ten, then slowly opened her eyes, forcing them to adjust to the light. There were many candelabrums, all lit, a stark difference from the eerie semi-darkness on the other side of the curtains. _This must be the his lair_, was all Meg could think.

It was a medium-sized area, and to her far right was an archway, and beyond only murky water and mist. A small, nearly unnoticeable flight of stairs protruded from the stone wall in front of her, but other than that, there were no other ways out.

The water ended a few feet away from her; there were two stone steps, then a vast slab of stone ground. A strange yet wonderful organ stood almost haughtily on the stone ground to her left, and an intricate throne was placed against the stone wall, a long black cape draped behind it. At least three large mirrors were also leaned against the walls, some covered, some only half-covered. Thick red curtains hung in various places against the rough wall, covering the entrances to rooms, Meg assumed. The stone wall ran relatively straight, and then veered back to create a rounded groove where most of the candelabrums stood. A few statues, music sheets, and various items were crowded around the ground, making the place feel strangely cozy.

Meg explored this awe-inspiring lair as if in a dream, walking on clouds. There was even a tiny replica of the opera stage, accompanied by little dolls of Christine, Carlotta, and the other players. It was odd yet… sweet, at the same time. Goosebumps covered her arms.

For some reason, the urge to push aside the thick curtains and discover what laid behind them was not very strong, so Meg didn't bother. Part of her was afraid to look, afraid of what she might see. There was one small curtain, however, covering a small part of the wall; and it drew her to it. Cautiously she reached out and pulled on a short golden rope, and the curtain drew back as her eyes widened and a small gasp escaped from her.

It was Christine.

No, no… it wasn't. Once Meg collected herself (she had always thought that was a strange term, as if pieces of herself were floating away, therefore she was incomplete and needed to gather all the pieces together like a puzzle), she realized it _wasn't_ Christine. It was, in fact, a very life-like bust of Christine from about above the waist up. The Christine-model wore a filmy white veil over her face, the beginnings of a beautiful white dress, and half of the long curly brown hair was pinned up. The model's red lips were curved into a sweet half-smile, and the eyes seemingly warm and kind, even though they were fake.

Meg reached and touched the Christine-model's face, but it was cool and smooth. She had half-expected it to be warm and soft, like true living flesh.

Like the miniature stage, it was odd yet sweet, and the craftsmanship was utterly amazing.

Meg had moved about in an almost dreamlike trance, but suddenly it all melted away and she realized she was standing in the middle of the _Phantom's_ lair, looking at his personal objects… a man who had mercilessly killed another. Something as cold as ice began to trickle down her spine.

_Oh no, what was I thinking?_ Meg mentally cursed herself for being so stupid. _All I've learned is that he has some sort of obsession for Christine. I'm sure she knows that… oh boy, what about the Vicomte, Raoul? I'm sure the Phantom won't like that they're close…_

Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft tinkling tune of music. She cocked her head to the side, listening, and turned around, searching for the source of the strange sound. Her eyes fell on a music box, consisting of a pillow-like object upon which a little monkey, clad in a little outfit and hat, holding cymbals, perched. The monkey's arms moved in time with the tune and the cymbals it held clapped together lightly.

Meg fell to her knees in front of it, the tinkling tune bringing forth all sorts of emotions. The tune was sad, haunting, strange, and heartbreaking… it tugged at Meg's heart and made her feel like crying. It radiated loneliness, and desperation for some sort of warmth. She wondered if the Phantom had made it, and purposely created the musical tune to represent his own pent-up emotions. _The cloud of mystery grows stronger around this man._

Suddenly, Meg heard distant footsteps. They sounded harsh and angry, and suddenly she knew they could only belong to one person… _Dear God. It's him!_

She looked around frantically. Could she escape the way she came? Desperately she leapt across the water and yanked open the curtains. "No…"

The gate had closed, and no matter how hard she pulled, it would not open.

The footsteps grew louder, now accompanied by an angry voice, although Meg couldn't make out what it was saying. Her heart pounded so loudly, she was sure the Phantom could hear. _Oh, God, I need to hide… that's all I can do, hide._

Meg looked everywhere for a spot, and just as she felt as if she were going to scream, she discovered that there was a little space underneath the throne, and she could just slip behind it and crawl underneath it, but the front was blocked so he couldn't see her. It would have to do, she decided, and slipped herself into the small space, feet first, twisting and contorting so her head was pressed against the sheet of whatever material blocked the underside of the throne from being completely exposed, and her behind faced the stone wall, her legs tucked underneath her. She crouched, tensed and silent.

Soon the footsteps grew louder and louder, until they were on the same rough, stone ground upon which she crouched. There was a clattering sound, then something shattering.

"How dare she," a male voice, full of pain and rage, snarled. "That little viper… little enchantress… lying Delilah… I gave her _everything_. _Everything!_ I allowed her to become a star, to blossom from a simple chorus girl to an opera star… and this is how she repays me. She… she betrays me with that-that _foolish Vicomte_; that arrogant, conceited, full-headed _child!_" There was a roar of anguish, then the sound of something crashing.

"I taught her… I took her under my wing, an _orphan_, a nobody… I thought she would understand… no one would listen." A pause. "I…gave…her…_everything._ And she calls me a monster, she begs her precious Vicomte to protect her…" Silence.

"Am I that hideous?" he whispered. "Am I so much a monster that I cannot be loved, only feared?"

"But fear can turn to love…" his voice trailed off.

A few heartbeats of silence, and then his voice was full of rage once again. "Damn her," he snarled. "Damn Christine Daae… damn that arrogant Vicomte… they will pay, all of them will _pay!_" He let out another roar, and it sounded as if numerous things were connecting with the stone floor, or wall, and shattering, breaking, crashing, cracking.

Meg squeezed her eyes shut and focused on keeping her breathing as light as possible. She couldn't help but feel pity for this man, as he obviously loved Christine, and in his eyes had betrayed him by falling in love with Raoul (so Meg assumed). But why did he call himself a monster?

Suddenly, there was silence. For some reason it unnerved Meg, for it was a horrible silence.

Then it hit her like a thunderbolt, and she bit down hard on her tongue.

_Oh Lord, I left the curtain up, the curtain covering the bust of Christine… has he noticed? He must, he must… will he find me? Will he kill me? Can I escape? Dare I escape?_

"Who dares enter the Phantom's lair?" his voice cut sharply across the silence, brimming with growing anger. "What _fool_ dares?"

_Be quiet, breathe quiet, perhaps he won't find you… Shush, Meg, shush… oh Mother, Maman, I promise never to disobey you again… please God, if only I escape this…_

But she was not to be so lucky. The noises following were a clear hint that he was angrily searching every inch for the damned intruder: her.

Meg could hear the curtains being ripped harshly back, tables overturned, mirrors scraped along the floor, things crashing and shattering as his anger grew.

"You will pay dearly, foolish intruder… only those with death wishes _dare_ venture beneath the depths of the opera house!"

_I need to make a run for it, when he finds me, maybe I can surprise him, throw him off balance and run… or should I fight?_

As Meg's thoughts were frantically conflicting with each other, the Phantom had reached the last possible hiding spot: underneath his throne. In a fluid movement, he grasped the throne and nearly threw it across the area, revealing a young girl with long, angel-blonde hair, wide blue eyes filled with terror, clad in a half-soaked white nightgown and white ballet slippers.

Meg wasted no time. Her instincts kicked into gear and she sprang up, away from the Phantom; spun around and began to run, her legs pumping and her feet desperately pushing against the ground, her mind screaming to _run, get away, don't even give him a chance…_

But it was no use. Although she was as quick and nimble as a mouse, the Phantom was like a large cat. He grasped her arm tightly, his grip like iron, restraining her. She tugged and pulled and fought, but the iron grip only tightened. Meg yelped in pain despite herself, and stared at the Phantom, terrified… yet slightly defiant, not ready to give into a fate like Joseph Buquet's quite yet.

The Phantom wore a pure white mask, which covered half his face, stretching across diagonally. The other un-masked half was as smooth and handsome as day, although it was twisted angrily into a snarl. His silver-blue eyes were cold yet burned with fury. He had black hair, slicked back, and wore black pants, a black vest, and a white shirt underneath. On his hands he wore black gloves, which seemed to dig into her skin.

"Who are you," he spat angrily, his eyes burning into hers. Suddenly, something in his eyes changed. "The girl on the roof," he muttered to himself. "The foolish little dancer... you nearly fell... that was _you_?"

Meg was breathing heavily, her entire body on fire, tensed for defence. She wasn't sure how to respond to his second question, shocked that it was actually _him_ who had saved her. "I-I-I'm Meg," was all she managed to say. "M-Meg Giry."

The Phantom's face changed slightly, and he relaxed his grip a bit. "Giry?"

Meg pounced on this like a cat with a mouse. "Y-Yes, monsieur. I'm the only daughter of Madame Giry, the ballet mistress."

He studied her coldly. "Her daughter?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"And does your mother know you are here, Meg Giry?" he asked, a trickle of amusement creeping into his voice, although his eyes were still cold and hard.

"N-No, monsieur. She told me not to come down here, b-but I did not listen." Meg swallowed fearfully, digging her feet into the ground.

"And why did you not listen, little Giry?"

"I… because I was curious, monsieur. I discovered a passageway behind Christine's mirror, and I followed it… I was worried about her, you see, when she was missing, but my mother interrupted me."

His eyes flashed dangerously. "Does anyone else know?" he hissed, tightening his grip once again.

Meg winced in pain. "About the passageway? N-No, monsieur, only myself and my m-mother."

"You are acquainted with Miss Daae, yes?"

Meg nodded furiously. "Yes, monsieur. She… she is my best friend."

The Phantom snorted. "Then I do well to assume you are like her: a lying, naïve little child who changes personalities as easily as she changes her garments."

She shook her head, anger mixing with her fear. "No, monsieur. Christine is not like that, nor am I."

"Of course you would deny it," he snarled. "I would not expect you to acknowledge anything except yourself."

"You seem to have a very harsh idea of women for someone who has lived their life alone, cut off from civilization," Meg snapped, and immediately regretted her words.

He took a step towards her, and she feared he would strike her, but she stood her ground, refusing to cringe away.

He studied her briefly, and then snorted. "Perhaps you are not like Miss Daae, little Giry. She would indefinitely have cowered away from me."

Meg gulped and nodded. "P-Please, monsieur… please let me go."

The Phantom gave her a cold stare and laughed. It was horrible laughter, like shattering glass. "Oh, yes, little Giry… and have the whole opera house upon me in a moment?"

"My mother will come looking for me, she'll know where I am," she blurted. "_She_ will bring the opera house upon you."

"Madame Giry is not that foolish, unlike you."

"I'm her _daughter_!"

"Her foolish, impulsive, curious daughter… who ventured into the lion's den."

"Then I shall fight the lion," she snapped, "And I shall win. I refuse to give up, monsieur, and allow a fate like that of Buquet's upon me!"

He regarded her with surprise. "You are a feisty one, like your mother, little Giry."

Meg grimaced. "I'd rather not know that, monsieur."

He glared at her, and shook her a bit. "Shame on you, little Giry, to allow thoughts like that to enter your pretty little head. Your mother… your mother was the one who rescued me, she is the only one who has ever shown a scrap of compassion for me."

"Why?" she blurted. "I heard you call yourself a monster. Personally, you look fine to me… although why the necessity of the mask?"

The stupidity of the question hit her ears and caused her to blush. "Excuse me, m-monsieur… that was very foolish of me."

"At least you realize your stupidity."

Meg stared at him for a moment. "I heard everything you said," she said softly. "About Christine… she wouldn't have purposely hurt you, monsieur, I know her. Yes, she can be a bit… childish sometimes. Her father died when she was young, monsieur, and she still misses him like a young child. Sometimes I think… part of her never really grew up. She's so innocent, monsieur, so trusting… but she would never mean to hurt anyone."

The Phantom stared at her, his eyes hardening.

"I know you… you… you are taken with her," Meg finished lamely. "But…but… you cannot force love. She is young, monsieur, and if she does not return your… your… interest, you cannot blame her."

Instead of soothing or comforting the Phantom, her words seemed to merely enrage him. "Silence," he hissed. "You have made a grave mistake, little Giry, one for which there is no second chance. You cannot ever leave this place; see, now, how it feels to be utterly alone."

"No!" Meg screamed, and as he dragged her towards one of the curtains, she resisted, tugging backwards.

"You cannot fight, child."

"Yes – I - can!" she cried, and continued to resist, but he pulled against her with strength she would never know. "I won't let you… _no_!" She beat his arm uselessly, and in a moment of utter desperation, she lunged forward and sunk her teeth into his arm as hard as she could, her only thought to escape.

He roared in anger and pain, but released her arm. She stumbled backwards but regained her footing, and backed away, keeping her eyes on the Phantom yet, at the same time, searching for a weapon. He glared at her, and she felt her heart skip a beat. _Uh-oh, I've angered him now._

For a lack of anything better, Meg grabbed a candelabrum and waved it in front of her, as if to ward of some sort of animal. "Leave me alone," she warned. "All I want to do is go back… I won't tell anyone, I swear. But I'm not staying here, I'm not."

The Phantom laughed harshly. Suddenly, the candles extinguished, plunging the room into almost complete darkness, except for a bit of eerie bluish-white light coming from the cracks in the ceiling.

Meg whimpered. She couldn't help it. Maybe before, she had a chance, but now… he was going to kill her, she knew it.

"Please," she whispered, backing away, looking all around her. "Don't kill me… please, monsieur, don't." _I don't want to die._

She strained to listen, but there was only silence. _How can he move so fast, so soundlessly? Unless he really is a phantom, a ghost…_

Suddenly Meg felt a hand on her shoulder. She whipped around, screaming, and lashed out at whatever was there. But she slipped and fell heavily, smacking her head smartly on the ground. Her vision blurred, and then she was plunged into total darkness as all feeling and hearing melted away to nothingness around her.

**R & R!**


	4. Shattered Mirrors

**Disclaimer:**** Sorry it's taken me so long to update! I saw POTO on Broadway a few days ago (it was amazing!) and it gave me the kickstart to do this chapter. Enjoy! (I own nothing.) **

Chapter 4

Meg wasn't aware of anything for a long time. When she finally stirred, the time had simply passed in a long, black, empty space of time. It seemed only seconds before that she had slipped and fallen.

The first thing she realized was that her head was throbbing, dully at first, and then the pain grew stronger. She winced, and in doing so realized her eyes were shut. Her body felt heavy and tired, too tired to attempt to move.

_What happened? O-oh, did I fall and smash into a steel wall or something? I-I slipped… and fell… but where? Why? Where am I?_

Meg mustered all her strength and forced her eyes open, although it didn't do much good. She stared into darkness, her mind frantically trying to make sense of things.

_My name is Meg, I… I'm a dancer… I slipped and fell… someone was chasing me… but who? And where am I?_

It frightened her, more than the fact that she was in some unknown place, that she could barely remember anything. Her name, her… occupation… the cause of her pain… what use was any of that?

Meg struggled to her feet, but when she tried to lift one leg up, she found that it wouldn't move, it was tightly bound to her other leg. _What…?_

She felt blindly down her legs, and her fingers brushed over something thick and bristly, wound around her legs… _rope._

Her arms were tied, too, behind her back, bound roughly at the wrists. The effort to free herself was overwhelming; all she wanted to do was sleep, to sink into blissful darkness and become free of any feeling or thought.

"Hello?" Meg forced herself to call out. "Hello? Is anyone there? Please, help me!"

There was only silence, and a sudden bone-chilling breeze.

"HELP ME!" Meg screamed as loud as she could, with all the strength she could muster. "SOMEONNE, HELP ME! IS ANYONE THERE?"

She slumped forward, her energy spent. Either no one was there, or they were just choosing not to answer.

_I'm just going to have to try and find a door, or something,_ she thought fiercely. She forced herself to keep going, she couldn't give up, just _couldn't_.

Using her tied hands to support herself so she didn't fall backwards, she drew her legs towards herself and away, inching very slowly across the floor, which felt cold and slightly damp.

Like a deformed worm, Meg struggled to move, falling back painfully on her hands every so often. Finally, her feet collided with something hard. Grasping her opportunity, she lifted her feet awkwardly and kicked the wall, or door or whatever it was, over and over. "HELP ME! SOMEONE, HELP ME! HELP! IS ANYONE THERE? LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT _NOW!_"

Everything happened suddenly. There was thudding footsteps, a loud swishing noise, and the hard surface which Meg had been kicking was yanked open, and her feet kicked at the air.

She winced, light streaming like water all around her. A figure stood, large and shadowy in the doorway, towering over her. "Silence," the figure hissed.

As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw that the figure was a man. Dressed nearly all in black, with immaculate black hair, piercing eyes, with a shining white mask covering half his face.

"W-Who are you?" Meg cried back, trying to cover her fear. Had she been kidnapped? Was she being held for ransom? But who would pay it? Her parents? Did she even have parents? Were her parents' dancers, was that why she remembered herself being one too?

The man glared down at her scornfully. "You disappoint me, little Giry."

"W-What?"

"_You try my patience!_" he snarled again. "These foolish childish games do not work on me. They will not invoke pity, little Giry, nor will they ensure your freedom."

"Stop!" Meg cried, confused and afraid. "I don't know who you are, or what you want! Please, just let me go!"

The man laughed cruelly, but she could hear a hint of impatience creep into his voice. "Well, this has been quite amusing, little Giry. However, it is time to drop the charade…" He took a step forwards, his laughter stopping abruptly, his face growing dark and dangerous. "For I have very little patience…" Another step forward. Meg tried to scramble backwards, but her hands slid and she found herself lying face-up on the floor.

"And you are threatening to sever my last nerve." He stood over her, his eyes flashing. "Now… what is your name?"

"M-Meg… Meg Giry." Meg guessed that Giry was her last name, or why would the man be calling her that?

"Are you a singer or a dancer?"

"A dancer."

"Who am I?"

"I…" Meg stared up at him, half-afraid and half-awed, not knowing what to say. Should she make up a name? "Um… I-I don't know! Please, monsieur… I _don't_ remember, honestly!"

The man regarded her coldly. Finally, he spoke. "You do not strike me as a stupid girl, little Giry… unlike your friend, Miss Daae."

_Who's Miss Daae?_ Meg wondered, but she didn't ask.

His gaze fell on her head. "You're bleeding."

Meg stared at him for a moment. "I suppose I will have to take your word for it, monsieur, since I am not in a position to check for myself. However, I would assume, since I did fall, and my head pounds, that it would be bleeding." Her defiance and cheek surprised herself, and she steeled herself for his rage.

The man's face was like stone, but a tiny spark of amusement lit in his eyes for a moment before it then disappeared.

"You do not know who I am?"

"No."

"You do not know where you are, or how you got here?"

"No."

"Perhaps… such things could happen when one sustains injury to their head. However, and I am sure you will understand, I still cannot trust you."

Meg bit back a moan. She'd been hoping he would let her go, but realistically, she knew he wouldn't. "Can you untie me, then? I swear I won't run away… I wouldn't know where to go."

"No." He turned away, and she saw that a door covered the entrance to her prison, and beyond that was a thick scarlet curtain.

"I cannot release you, little Giry. I still have no desire to have the whole opera house in my domain. And… you must learn not to wander in places that lie in darkness."

With that, the man moved forward to shut the door.

"Wait!" Meg cried, despite herself. "W-who are you?"

He turned slightly, so the unmasked side of his face was all she could see. "I am the Opera Ghost."

He shut the door, and the room was plunged into darkness. Meg heard the heavy swish of the curtain falling back into place.

_The Opera Ghost?_ The words sent a chill down her spine, though she didn't know why. The rope dug cruelly into her flesh and she wriggled desperately in her binds. Her stomach growled, accompanied by stabs of pain, like tiny knives, causing her to grimace.

_He can't be a ghost, not a real one, so it must be some sort of nickname. Wait… the Opera Ghost? The Ghost of the Opera? Is that where I am… an opera house? But, then, if he is indeed a 'ghost', he would not dwell where the others do… the singers and dancers and such. Am I in some secret room, some hidden passage? Will anyone ever find me? Will anyone even notice I'm gone?_

Round and round Meg's mind spun, ripping apart each piece of information she knew, and clung to, her only pieces of a vast puzzle. She tried to remember, closed her eyes and concentrated, but it felt as if she were trying to coax back an animal from the edge of a cliff, and the closer she got to the animal, the more she begged it to return, the closer it backed to the edge of the cliff, until it was in danger of falling. It was best to stop trying to remember, and the animal, her memory, stopped backing away and sat, close to the edge yet not plummeting over it.

_Oh, I am like an animal… perhaps a cat, oh yes. Curiosity killed the cat: that's me.. This Opera Ghost is a monster, a dragon perhaps, and I am the foolish kitten that dared wander into its lair. Now I am imprisoned, until when? Until the dragon decides to eat me? Until he decides for pity and lets me go? Until I die myself?_

Meg could feel insanity clawing at her edges, trying to draw her in, but she fought it back. If this Ghost could dwell in darkness, then so could she.

But she felt naked and defenceless, her bravery and courage blocked. Without the knowledge of herself, and this man, she couldn't help but feel weak. There were flashes of courage, moments when she felt, for a second, that she knew everything. But then they disappeared, as if they had never been.

Meg forced herself to take deep breaths. Surely, this man would not let her starve. He struck her as short-tempered, and cruel, but there was something else which lurked beneath his stony surface, that suggested he was not a monster, not completely.

In such a situation, to calm herself and pass the time, Meg would have danced. However, as she did not remember much, including her deep love for the dance, this thought barely entered her mind. She only remembered that she _was_ a dancer, not that she enjoyed it.

"I could sing," she whispered to herself. She wasn't sure if she could sing, she only knew she could dance. "It's better that sitting here in silence."

Did she even know any songs? Meg squeezed her eyes shut, trying to think of one. Her memory animal still sat near the cliff edge, eyeing her warily, but she was searching for a different memory now.

Then she remembered something. A soft, tinkling tune… she had been searching for something, in a strange sort of lair, by a greenish lake, surrounded by stone arches and figureheads… a monkey, playing cymbals… it played a tune that brought forth more emotions than Meg thought possible to feel…

There were no words, and if there were, she didn't know them. But she began to hum the tune, a painful twinge tugging at her stomach, the sorrow of it pawing at her heart. Her voice was low at first, a whisper, but then it grew louder, soft and sweet, as her voice was like an innocent child's.

She repeated it, over and over, and it gave her a strange sort of comfort, as well as covering the deafening silence.

For the second time, the curtain was ripped back and the door flung open. The Opera Ghost towered over her once again, a strange look burning in his eyes this time.

"How do you know that tune?" he snarled, gripping her shoulders and yanking her violently to her feet. She stumbled, but he held her up in his iron grip. "What do you think gives you the right, little Giry… _that song belongs to me!_"

Meg stared, wide-eyed, back at him. _So much anger, so much pain…_ "I heard it. I remember… the monkey played it… the little monkey with the cymbals. I'm sorry, I didn't know it would upset you."

His face twisted, and he gripped her shoulders tighter. "Foolish wretch… consider yourself lucky to be alive, little Giry… not many mortals enter the Ghost's lair and survive to tell of what they have seen. Although, the only ones who will ever hear your story are the damned walls surrounding you!"

The Opera Ghost threw her to the floor, his anger providing his cruel strength. "The only reason you are alive is because of your mother, the only one who ever showed me a scrap of compassion! Now, now… now someone innocent, like I once was, will feel _my_ pain! You will feel how it feels so be alone, horribly alone, for _no reason at all_!" He turned on heel and slammed the door. She could hear things banging loudly and shattering, as he cursed loudly.

She stared into the darkness.

Her bare skin stung where it had made harsh contact with the stone ground. Now, Meg was condemned to silence and blackness… which apparently, was _his_ world. But why? Why did he wear the mask, what was he hiding? Why did he live in an opera house… was he a composer? A singer?

Meg lay motionless on the cold floor, simply staring into the shadows before her. The pain in her head and the rest of her body eventually faded to dull throbbing and stinging. She became hungrier and hungrier as time passed, her throat becoming raw and dry. The silence was smothering.

She drifted in and out of sleep, not knowing which was which, because the darkness behind her eyes was the exact same as the darkness in front of them.

Suddenly, music pierced the thick silence. Meg's eyes snapped open (at least, she thought they did), but the music was little comfort. It was harsh, loud organ-sounding music, filled to the brim with dark emotions. It made her hair stand on end, her skin prickle, and she was torn between listening and covering her ears.

The music grew in pitch, becoming louder and louder. It surrounded her, smothered her… it was everywhere… there was no escape.

"Stop," she muttered, shifting slightly. But the music didn't stop, if anything, it grew louder. "Stop!" she spoke aloud, her voice echoing in the darkness. The music grew harsher and rougher, as if mocking her.

"STOP!" she screamed, writhing. She couldn't stand it anymore. "STOP, PLEASE STOP, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS, WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU?"

There was a beat of silence.

The music continued, but it was softer this time. She relaxed against the cold wall, breathing heavily.

"Thank you."

**Not much of a chapter, I know. But still, R & R!**


	5. Defiance

**Disclaimer:**** Argh, I accidentally deleted this chapter, so I'm re-writing it. It's annoying, but perhaps a good thing, because I think I need to extend the chapters covering Meg's time in the Phantom's lair so the story isn't so short. Anyways, I own nothing. Enjoy!**

Chapter 5

There was once a time, which seemed so long ago, when Meg would have given nearly _anything_ to be allowed time to sleep. A dancer's life was so strict, allowing little time for frivolous things like rest and, daresay, _fun_. Sleep was achieved in snatches, you got whatever you could – it was a privilege, a luxury, positively not a necessity. Now, Meg was faced with endless expanses of Time, stretching out before her – Time in which she could do very little _but_ sleep, for what could one achieve when bound and stuck in a dark room?

At first, Meg _did_ rather enjoy her slumber – it was a way to pass the time, to forget, and to heal the throbbing pains that still echoed within her body. Soon, however, the line between awake and asleep began to blur. The blackness was the same, whether her eyes were open or closed, and she began to find it difficult to separate the two. Sometimes she dreamt, and sometimes she didn't – the worst part was when she was dreaming of something like sunshine, or the warm embrace of her mother (_whoever that was_) and suddenly awoke, realizing she was still very much alone.

Time was everywhere and nowhere. Meg hated not knowing how much time had passed, and it wasn't as if she could ask the _Opera Ghost_. She never saw him, but assumed he must have entered her prison, for one day (or hour, or minute, who could tell?) she awakened (or had she simply opened her eyes?) and saw that a small candle was lit, a few feet away from her, bathing a small tray containing scraps of food and a rusted goblet in its liquid light.

Meg crawled along the damp floor, like some sort of chained animal and attacked the food hungrily. Her hands were tied behind her back, so she was forced to eat like a dog – smearing the food across her face, but she didn't care. Hunger, thirst – her instincts overcame any sort of manners or etiquette, for such things were of no importance now. It wasn't as if the _Opera Ghost_ would care.

The goblet proved more challenging. _I'm going to need my hands,_ she thought to herself in dismay. _Perhaps I can – maybe – bring them under me, to my front, so I can at least use them, if not untie them. _Meg knew she needed to stand first, if she was going to slip her arms under her legs, but therein lay another problem – her feet were tightly bound. _Alright, then, I'll need to lean against a wall._ Slowly, in a sitting position, Meg inched her way backwards, wincing at the sensation of the thick rope rubbing against her raw skin. When her fingers made contact with the wall, she moved so she was pressing against it as much as she could without crushing her hands.

"Okay," Meg said aloud. "Now I just have to – stand – and…" Clenching her jaw, she counted to three and pushed upwards, drawing strength from her dancer's legs. She used her hands to aid her, keeping her steady, and after a breathless moment, she found herself standing. Tears of relief flooded her eyes, and she allowed them to trickle leisurely down her cheeks.

_There you are, Opera Ghost,_ she thought triumphantly.

Now was the difficult part. Gingerly, she lowered her arms, using the wall to support herself. She bent until her wrists touched her ankles, wishing that they weren't bound so tightly, because it would be easier to step one foot through her arms at a time, rather than both. _I'll have to jump, like jumping rope,_ Meg thought, and quite suddenly a memory flashed across her eyes – of her and a group of girls, giggling in some sort of room filled with beds, a sheet tied and twisted together serving as a rope, which each girl jumped over as it was turned, laughing breathlessly.

"Oh." Meg closed and opened her eyes, but that was it – just that one, brief scene. _Those girls… they looked like other dancers. We were all dressed the same. Is that… that where I lived?_

There was no time to dwell – she could focus on the memory later. Every muscle in her body was tensed, coiled like a spring. Meg took a deep breath and jumped, bringing her arms forward – _just like a jump rope _– and to her surprise it actually worked, her legs passed through the loop of her arms quite quickly. Her success took her off guard and she stumbled back painfully into the wall and slid to the floor in a heap. _Ow,_ she grimaced mentally, the pain flaring up again – but it didn't matter. _I have use of my hands!_

Meg quickly sat up and surveyed herself. Her hands were still bound fiercely at the wrists, but at least she could move them a bit. She briefly tried working at the ropes around her ankles, but they were too taut. She would need some sort of blade to cut through the damned things. _Oh, well. I suppose it would be too easy that way. _Her small new-found victory filled her with fresh energy, sweeping away the lurking beginnings of despair and – even – madness. She grasped the goblet awkwardly and brought it to her parched lips, closing her eyes, the water like ecstasy against her throat.

Once she was finished her meal, she wiped her face with the back of her hands, ashamed at what she had been reduced to. _I don't even feel human – I feel like an animal… like a rat. I suppose I am truly a ballet rat, now._

The music started up again, duller this time, perhaps because of the door which separated the Opera Ghost and herself. She wondered what he was doing, if he was composing something – quite often the music would break off violently, and she would hear him cursing or smashing something – and then it would be silent for a while (although she couldn't be sure of how long.)

Already she began to feel restless. Meg knew it was the least of her worries, but she couldn't help but feel terribly _bored. _"I'll lose my mind," she muttered darkly. "If I'm in here too long, alone, I'll go mad. Like _him_." She wasn't sure what she could do to fight the madness, the despair, that she knew waited for her somewhere in the dark. _If I had my memories, perhaps…_ So Meg decided to focus her energy on remembering, starting with the scrap of the girls in the room. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on their faces... they were more young women than girls, really, and she was standing beside one with long, curly brown hair and rich chocolate eyes… whose smile was gentle and child-like at the same time…

_Christine. Christine Daae._

The name came to her suddenly, and her eyes snapped open. The girl – the brunette from the memory – was Christine… but, wait, hadn't the Opera Ghost mentioned her? Hadn't he said… _"You do not strike me as a stupid girl, little Giry… unlike your friend, Miss Daae."_

_Well of course she's your friend, Meg, you two were laughing together – with the others – such a nice memory, really, for you to remember,_ a voice in her head piped up. "Christine… _Christine…_ it sounds so familiar… and he knows her, he must… but how?" Had she, too, been down here – was she here now, locked in another room, perhaps? _No… that wouldn't make sense… she would hear me, or I would hear her._

Meg tried to remember more, but it seemed as if a wall had sprung within her mind, as if it was saying _so sorry, dear Meg, but that's all you can remember for now!_

She bit down on her lip angrily, tasting copper and metal on her tongue. Did he expect her to be _grateful_ that he had fed her? Did he expect her to – to _sit_ here in silence and be thankful she was _alive_? Part of Meg knew that doing anything that might anger him (which was everything except sitting still) was a bad idea, but stubbornness was rising within her. Anger filled her with resolve, and she'd grasped the goblet and flung it towards the door before her mind had finished processing what she was about to do.

"You can't just leave me here!" she cried, her voice rising and cracking pitifully. Her chest was heaving, her breaths coming in short snatches. "You – you can't just _forget about me_!"

The music stopped suddenly. Fear and a sort of exhilaration seized her heart, squeezing it mercilessly. Yet, strangely, she did not regret her actions.

The door was flung open, candlelight spilling into her prison and mingling with her own minute candle. The Opera Ghost towered over her one again, anger darkening his razor-sharp eyes. Meg watched as his gaze fell to the goblet, lying on its side by the door, a bit of water leaking out, and then back to her. "So," he hissed, "Was the sustenance I provided you with not – acceptable – little Giry?"

_My name is Meg,_ she thought, but kept the words to herself. "Am I – am I supposed to thank you now?" she asked scornfully, her voice wavering slightly. "Well then, yes, thank you for not letting me _starve_ and _die_ – but you can't keep me here like, like some sort of _prisoner._"

"And why _not_?"

"Because…" Meg found herself at a loss for words. "Because it's – it's not _right_!"

"Do not speak to me of what is _right_, foolish girl!" His voice rose, twisted with rage, and she couldn't help but shrink back from his wrath. "You know _nothing_ – you are spoiled, coddled and sheltered from the world… you have no concept of right and wrong, of fairness… of pain…" He trailed off, glaring at her hatefully. "The world showed no compassion to me, little Giry. There is no reason why I should show any to _you_." He turned and strode towards the doorway.

Meg closed her eyes and twisted her face away from the light, her hope shattering into a million fragments. _He will never let me leave this place._

The Opera Ghost paused in the doorway, looking back at her. "Little Giry… if you ever respond with such insolent actions again… I will not be so merciful." With that, he slammed the door fiercely, causing what seemed like all four walls around her to shake.

Meg could hold back no longer. She threw herself to the floor, burying her head in her arms, sobbing silently. _I will die down here, alone. My body will lie here forever, a reminder to others, a lesson learned too late._

x

"It _has_ to have been him, Raoul." Christine clutched at her lover's arm desperately. "Meg has been missing for seven days – and he has not visited me for seven days. Don't you _see_? She must have gone… oh, Raoul, I should have stopped her."

Raoul sighed. "Christine, there is no Phantom, no Angel of Music. Thus he _couldn't_ have taken Meg. Perhaps she simply ran away… or, if she _has_ been kidnapped, it was not by this Phantom. We should be looking at real people – people who work here."

Christine and Raoul sat side-by-side on her bed, their hands entwined in each other's. She sighed in frustration. Everyone thought she was simply caught up in a dream, this Phantom a figment of her imagination, and it was becoming quite infuriating. Christine knew she had a reputation for being naïve and child-like, and she supposed she deserved that, but _honestly_ – would no one believe her?

"But, Raoul, no one _cares._ I mean – the managers – to them, Meg is nothing more but a dancer, a chorus girl. They can replace her in a moment… they don't _care._ They are content to believe she has run off and be done with it. But I _know_ Meg, Raoul." She grasped his hands tightly. "I need your help to find her. Something's happened to her, I _know_ it."

Raoul knew Christine could not be swayed. Personally, he too held the belief that this Meg Giry had run off – she had probably had enough of a dancer's life, and found some man who promised to take her away. But he loved Christine, and he would do anything for her, so he finally relented. "Alright, Christine. I shall get in contact with some of my friends – tell them to keep an eye out for Meg."

Christine knew Raoul didn't take her seriously, but she decided not to press him further… he'd start to think she was insane. "Thank you." They embraced warmly, but Christine's mind was already leaping ahead. _Madame Giry. Meg is her daughter – she will listen to me. She will believe me. I know she will._

Madame Giry had retreated to her room, warding off the hoards of concerned dancers who, unlike the managers, very much cared about Meg and where she was. "Maybe she's just run off," Emilie said uneasily, echoing the belief of many others in the opera house.

"No," Marie said firmly, shaking her head. "Meg would never do that."

Emilie sighed. "Then where _is_ she?"

Marie looked troubled. "I… I don't know." She glanced at Mme. Giry's door. "I don't think Madame will tell us anything. We should go back to the dormitories."

The ballet girls trudged back to their quarters, hardly noticing when Christine brushed past them, clad in a hooded cloak even though she was indoors. When she reached Madame Giry's room, she rapped urgently on the door. "Madame Giry, it's Christine," she whispered urgently. "Please, let me in."

There was a pause, and Christine heard a click as the door slowly creaked open. Madame Giry's face appeared in the crack, pale and haggard. "Christine. Come in, quickly." She ushered the girl in and shut the door swiftly behind her. "Were you followed, my dear?"

Christine threw back her hood and shook her head. "I was careful, Madame." She hesitated. "I'm here about Meg. I… I know who has taken her."

Madame Giry looked up at her, her eyes tired yet still full of their old fire. "Do you?"

"I… yes, and I believe you do to."

Madame Giry sighed. "Christine, I haven't the faintest idea where my daughter is. If you do, then tell me, and if not, then please leave."

Christine sat at the edge of the modest, small bed. "It's… it's _him_. The Phantom of the Opera. I think… I think Meg may have angered him, or perhaps even stumbled upon his… his lair."

Madame Giry stared at her for a few moments, and then pointed towards the door. "Leave."

"Wh… what?" Christine was utterly taken off guard.

"I said, _leave!_ My daughter is missing, Miss Daae, and you _dare_ come to me with such outrageous accusations – that the _Opera Ghost_ took her?!" Her voice grew harsh and angry.

Christine still couldn't figure out the sudden change in Madame Giry's attitude. "But… but you _know _he exists! You relay his letters! If anyone believes in his existence, it is _you_!"

Madame Giry rose, holding herself with her usual regal air. "Perhaps. But it does not matter if I believe in the Opera Ghost's existence or not. Whatever happened to my daughter, it is a matter of the real world, not ghosts. Now, please, Christine, you are wasting my time terribly." She strode to the door and pulled it open. "Bon soir."

Christine's eyes filled with tears of confusion and frustration. "I don't understand," she said softly, pulling the hood back over her head and leaving the room. She heard the door slam behind her. "What is Madame Giry afraid of? Perhaps – the Opera Ghost?" Her heart squeezed when she thought of her Angel, the man who inspired her voice… the murderer, who killed Joseph Buquet and had taken Meg. Would he hurt her? Was she still alive? _No, no, Meg is only a girl – not even a woman – he would not kill her. He could not… would not…_

But Christine was forced to realize that, really, she did not know what the Phantom would or would not do. "If Madame Giry will not help me," she thought firmly, "then I – I must go after Meg myself." But even as she thought it, a part of Christine knew she wouldn't really go through with it – and it was that part that she cursed as she hurried back to her room.

**Read and review! Sorry for the long wait. ******


End file.
